


as long as anyone with hot blood can

by leapylion3



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1980s, Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Feminist Punk Rocker Alys Karstark, Gift Fic, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Oral Sex, Police, Police Officer Jon Snow, Protests, Punk, Sex in a Car, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leapylion3/pseuds/leapylion3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they meet is in Barnsley, on opposite sides of his riot shield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as long as anyone with hot blood can

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheBlondeMermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlondeMermaid/gifts).



> title from uptown girl by billy joel (it's a hit from 1984 and this story takes place then) 
> 
> written for my darling girl freddie bcuz we talked about this a few days ago and now i can't get it out of my head. i hope you like it, sweetie! <333

The first time they meet is in Barnsley, on opposite sides of his riot shield. The glass is smudged, but through it he can still see the neon red lipstick on her shouting mouth, bright enough to be seen from miles away. Her high ponytail swings behind her as her arms wave, holding a large sign that reads LET OUR MEN WORK. He has to silently applaud her dedication; she’d smudged grey and brown makeup on her cheeks and neck, and she wore steel-toed mining boots.

As if she feels his eyes on her, she glances over and winks. “Get back to work, Officer,” she calls over, showing off her pearly white teeth as she grins. “You’re supposed to be stopping this protest, remember?” She shakes her sign for emphasis, and he’s blushing as red as her lipstick now.

“I’m not here to _stop_ it,” he clarifies. “I’m here to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.”

She takes a few steps towards him, and he notices her lip ring and eyebrow piercing. “Then what’s with the riot shield?” She taps on the glass and pops her bubblegum.

“It’s policy,” he says with a hint of exasperation.

She shoves her hand in the pocket of her leather jacket. “That’s cute,” she snipes, snorting. The smirk returns to her face, and her fingers, coated in black nail polish, press up against the glass. “Come on, Officer, I won’t bite.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but two ladies a few paces away are shouting her name. “Alys, get your ass back over here!”

The girl, Alys, pouts, feigning remorse. “Another time, Officer. Duty calls.”

She leans forward and kisses the riot shield, leaving an imprint of her bright red lips right smack in the middle of it. With another wink, she saunters back into the crowd, and a moment later, he can’t even find Alys, with the long legs and fishnets.

* * *

 

“Looks like Stark got some action!” Grenn whoops as Jon enters the police department.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“The shield, bozo,” Pyp explains with a roll of his eyes. His feet are kicked up on the desk and he’s munching on a donut, looking every inch like the stereotype of a cop. “So, who’s the special lady?”

“She’s no one,” Jon grumbles, wiping the lipstick stain off with his sleeve.

“Good thing she didn’t actually kiss you,” Pyp says, sipping his coffee. “That colour would look dreadful on you.” Grenn laughs, and Jon can only muster a glare. He’s far too exhausted to fight with him, so he shuffles over to his cubicle and sits down, ignoring his friends’ teasing. He has a stack of paperwork to do, and he has every intention to fill it all out, but he ends up taking a nap on his desk for the remainder of the day instead.

* * *

 

The next day, Detective Inspector Mormont calls him into his office, and with every step, Jon can feel his palms growing clammier and clammier. “You wanted to see me, sir?” he questions, poking his head inside. He hopes his voice didn’t sound as scared as he thought it did. (He’d been working for Mormont for almost two years now, but there was _something_ about the Old Bear that could make the toughest man piss himself.)

“I found something interesting in the paper today,” Mormont informs him dryly.

Jon gulps.

“I thought you might like to see it.” He gestures for Jon to close the door and take a seat. He drops the newspaper onto the desk for Jon to see, and automatically, Jon feels like he’s going to throw up. “I wasn’t sure if it was you at first, but Pyp confirmed it.” From under his desk, he pulls up Jon’s riot shield from yesterday, where the lipstick is smudged all over the centre from when he tried to wipe it off.

The cover of the newspaper reads MINING PROTESTORS GETTING COZY WITH COPS, and the entire first page is a picture of Alys kissing his shield, all while Jon looks as if he’d just shat his pants.

“Oh, gods, sir, I am _so_ sorry. It’s not what it-”

Mormont waves his hand, effectively shutting him up. “That wasn’t _really_ why I called you here.” A rare smile tugs at his lips. “Though the look on your face was priceless.” Jon fumes silently. “422 White Harbour Street. Their neighbours called to complain about the noise level. Get over there, calm things down.”

Jon stands up and nods sharply. “Right away, sir.”

* * *

 

He pulls up in front of the house, but he’d heard the noise from two blocks over. The garage is open, revealing a group of five people, a band, rehearsing a very off-key version of Blondie’s _Rapture_. They don’t even need amplifiers, Jon thinks as he watches them from the car, if their drummer is anything to go by. He’s pounding on the drum set, and it’s a wonder that it doesn’t break.

Jon steps out of his car and walks up the driveway, everything about him saying that he means business. (He doesn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s performance.) “I got some complaints regarding the noise levels,” he says, and he still has to shout over the music. (And, frankly, he’s being generous calling it _music_.) “I’m going to have to ask you to turn it down.”

The band stops playing and they look at him with slight amusement. The drummer twirls his drumsticks around, and Jon realizes how huge he is, even while sitting down. He never brings back up for simple noise control, but still…

“Oh, honey!” a familiar voice coos. “Did you see us in the paper?”

Jon locks eyes with the bass player.

 _Alys_.

“It was awfully sweet, wasn’t it?” She puts her hand on his arm, squeezing almost tenderly. “I’m gonna hang it up in my bedroom. Isn’t it exciting?” Her friends snicker behind her, and Jon wants nothing more than to jump into his car and drive as far away from there as possible. “See, Val, I told you!” Alys wraps an arm around the shoulders of a tall blonde, who is scrutinizing Jon intently.

“He seems out of your league, Ally.” Alys scowls and elbows her in the ribs, but Val only laughs. 

Jon crosses his arms over his chest. “I could have lost my job over that.”

“Well…” Alys says, gesturing behind her, “we could always use a keyboard player.”

“He’ll just complain about the noise,” the drummer drawls, glaring at him.

“Where else are we going to find a keyboard player, Sigorn?” Alys snaps.

Jon blushes and stammers, shaking his head. “I-I really don’t play.” He clears his throat. “Just keep the noise down, all right? I don’t want to have to make another trip back here.”

He heads back to his car, and he can hear Val stage-whisper to Alys, “You don’t even know his _name_!”   

* * *

 

“I thought this might interest you,” Satin, his intern, drawls. He slides a pamphlet over to him, and Jon reads it attentively. It’s an advertisement for _Magnar_ , a local band that’s playing tomorrow night at some seedy bar downtown. The bass player in the picture smirks up at him, and he feels a familiar sense of dread settle in the pit of his belly.

“You know, I have a lot of work to do-”

“Nuh uh, nope. I’m not hearing any of that.” Satin shakes his head, his curls flying around. “I already got Edd to cover your shift,” he says matter-of-factly. Jon groans and holds his head in his hands. “Oh, and, one more thing.”

“What?” Jon mutters, moving his hands just enough so he can see Satin.

“Please, for fuck’s sake, do _not_ wear your uniform tomorrow night. There’s nothing lamer than a cop showing up to a concert full of punks.”

* * *

 

Jon was tempted to call Theon and Robb to go with him, but he eventually ruled it out and he drives to the club alone. What is he even _doing_? She’s just some girl that he met at a rally, some stupid, stubborn, _very pretty_ girl… He shakes his head and wills those thoughts to go away. His knuckles are white as he clutches the wheel, and he tries very hard to not think about how shapely her legs had looked in those fishnets.

He enters the bar and is surprised to find that it’s pretty packed. The band is finishing their setup and sound check, and he takes a seat at the varnished wooden counter. He orders a drink- “Surprise me,” he tells the bartender- and watches Alys as she tunes her bass. The plaid skirt she wears is impossibly short and his eyes travel downwards, taking in the knee-high leather boots. She stretches and her top rides up a good six inches, giving him ample view of her smooth stomach. He blushes and looks away when he realizes that he can see her hot pink bra underneath the thin white material.

They sound a lot better than they did the other day, so either they’d crammed a ton of practice time in, or they’d played especially bad just to annoy their neighbours. Either way, he is off duty, and he doesn’t want to start an interrogation during the middle of the concert. He’s supposed to be having… _fun_ , supposed to be enjoying himself. So he stays quiet and sips at his margarita and pretends that the music _isn’t_ totalling his eardrums.

 _Magnar_ plays for an hour or so before they’re taking their bows and putting their equipment away. Jon searches for Alys in the crowd, looking for the high ponytail and leather jacket. He jumps when someone taps his shoulder, and he whirls around to find none other than the girl from the rally.

“You came,” she states.

“That I did.”

“Buy me a drink?”

He laughs and orders another two margaritas.

* * *

 

He’s lost track of time by now, and he’s not exactly sure how they got here in the first place, but he finds himself in the backseat of his car with Alys underneath him, her lips on his neck and her hand guiding his underneath her shirt. He knows for a fact that they’re breaking four laws right now, and dammit, he should give himself a fucking fine for this. But he’s off duty, he reminds himself almost desperately, and he focuses at the task at hand.

“Oh, _Officer_!” she cries out as he licks at her over her underwear, her fingers tangling in his hair. He’s cramping in more than one place as he half-kneels on the floor of the car, and has the other leg on the seat.  

“My name’s Jon, you know,” he says wryly, resting his cheek on the inside of her bent knee.

“Believe me, I know,” she says, smirking. “But it’s not as fun that way.” She leans up on her elbows to look down at him. “Are you gonna strip search me, or what?”

He groans, utterly humiliated. “Please, do _not_ make any police jokes when I go down on you.”

She grins, and it’s the most wicked thing he’s ever seen. “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you excited to see me?”

* * *

 

They cuddle in the backseat after, lying naked under a ratty blanket he’d found in the trunk. Her hair tickles his nose as she tucks her head under his chin, but he only pulls her closer. He can’t even remember when the last time he’d had sex was, but gods, he was fucking out of shape for this. (That only means that he’d have to practice with Alys more often, though, which is a sacrifice he’s willing to make.)

She grabs a cigarette and a lighter out of her purse and he protests as she lights it up. “Open the window, then,” she retorts, holding the fag between her lips. He huffs but stays right where he is. “You want one?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You’re a _cop_.” She blows a stream of smoke in his face, and he refrains from coughing, much to his pride. She takes another drag and kisses him deeply, opening her mouth to him and letting him inhale the smoke. His hands find her hips under the blanket and he shifts her so that she’s straddling him.

“You shouldn’t be smoking,” he chides, watching her blow out more smoke into the air.

“You’re not my mother, Officer.”

He allows her to kiss him again, pushing smoke into his mouth as her tongue slides against his. He trails a hand down her side and cups her ass, rubbing up against her. She cranks open the window slightly and tosses the cig out, before returning her attentions back to his mouth. He gently tugs on her lip ring, and she gasps out, her thighs tightening around him.

“Are you sure you’re not too old for this?” she teases. “Maybe a nap sounds good right about now…”

He flips them so she’s lying underneath him, and she laughs loudly. “You have the right to remain silent,” he shoots back, pinning her hands above her head.

She laughs again, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Who’s making the cheesy cop jokes now?” she snickers, and he shuts her up with a kiss.   

                  

**Author's Note:**

> go check out my [network over on tumblr](http://roslinfrey.co.vu/post/88985471825/a-network-to-celebrate-the-wonderful-women-in-the)! it's to celebrate the lovely ladies in the asoiaf universe :)


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